“Aw, Jake, you’re actin’ like a chigger in tall grass, jumpin’ ‘round like that.” Thomas was stirring his shake. “This ain’t Miss Turner’s fifth grade class the day someone put a tack in your seat. Why don’t you just calm down and set a spell.”
Mr. Lewellyn’s glare was ferocious. “I can see you won’t be reasonable. If I was still a policeman, I’d haul you off to jail—”
Thomas threw back his head and laughed.
“Just like Miss Turner sent you to the principal’s office.”
A sour look stole over Thomas’s face.
“As it is, I aim to report this immediately to Bill Scutch, and he can do the honors.”
With that, Jake Lewellyn turned on his heel and stalked across the street toward the police station, nearly getting run over by a truck heading toward the sawmill.
“Tell him to bring his cuffs!” Thomas called. “I ain’t goin’ easy!”
“Whoo, what a show.” Folding his hands across his stomach, Mr. Jenkins tipped back his chair. “I don’t s’pose you know anything ‘bout that sign, Thomas.”
“Granddad, you aren’t goin’ to jail, are you!” Celia cried. The ice cream in her glass had long since melted, her Coke float resembling slushy snow.
“Don’t you worry, missy,” Thomas replied. I squeezed her hand.
It wasn’t long before Mr. Lewellyn was headed back across the street, dragging Policeman Scutch with him. Bill Scutch was about thirty years old, a handsome blond with hazel eyes and a quick smile. I’d had a crush on him years ago, when he first became the Bradleyville policeman, but I’d been too young. He was now married, with two kids. I knew he thought Thomas walked on water, and they often went to the school basketball games together.
“Hello, Jessie, Celia.” He winked at the little girl as he eased over the curb.
Thomas nodded. “Bill. Nice day. Buy you a drink?” He lifted his glass.
“No thanks.” Bill cleared his throat. “Jake tells me our town sign’s been painted over. Frankly, I ain’t seen it myself.”
“Well,” Thomas shrugged, “if Jake says so, it must be true.” He smiled grandly at Mr. Lewellyn.
Hank Jenkins jumped up to pull over an extra chair. “Have a seat.”
Mr. Scutch settled himself reluctantly, Mr. Lewellyn pacing under the awning, sweat running off his nose. “Eight years, Thomas,” he muttered. “Eight years earlier, and I’d be comin’ after you myself.”
“That’ll be the day, Jake,” Thomas laughed, “when you quit comin’ after me, town policeman or not.”
“We’re not kids anymore!” Mr. Lewellyn stormed. “When’re you goin’ to grow up! I had my own grandboy born three years ago, just after our last census; you don’t see me changin’ that sign. There are limits, Thomas, even for you.”
Mr. Lewellyn suddenly looked exhausted. He pulled his chair forward and plopped into it, fanning his face with a beefy hand.
For a moment, no one spoke. I glanced sideways at Bill Scutch, wondering what he’d do. The slightest flicker of a smile curved his lips, then was gone. He stared at Mr. Lewellyn, rubbing his forehead, eyes narrowed.
“My stomach hurts,” Celia whimpered.
I leaned over to put my arm around her shoulders.
“You’re right, Jake,” Bill pronounced. “It’s not fair for one person to deface town property. If everybody did that, this place’d be as messy as Albertsville.”
“Now hold on a second,” Thomas interrupted. “This is just one a Jake’s accusations, and he’s been accusin’ me a things since the first day a school. Nobody can prove I did anything.”
Bill Scutch puckered his chin. “That’s true.”
“We all know you did it, Thomas!” Mr. Lewellyn jumped to his feet again. “No other baby’s been born lately in this town, and certainly nobody else would think hisself so important that he’d change the sign that belongs to all of us just for his own grandboy!”
“Now hold on, Jake,” Mr. Scutch held up a hand. “I think I have a solution.”
“The Lord punishes sinners. Put him in jail until he pays for it; that’s the only solution!” Mr. Lewellyn’s scarlet cheeks were shaking again.
“Yeah, we could do that.”
Thomas looked not the least bit worried. “Let’s hear your solution,” he said, leaning over to set his empty glass on the sidewalk.
“We could paint over the sign again.”
Mr. Lewellyn slid to a halt. “Don’t worry ‘bout fixin’ that sign back, Bill; we’ll have to git a new one made. But I want him to pay for it—with money and with a night in jail.”
“No, gentlemen. What I mean is …,” Bill Scutch leaned forward. “That last number on the sign woulda been changed from a two to a three, right?”
“S’pose so.” Thomas sniffed.
“Well, then, it’s simple. We’ll paint over it again. Change the three to a four.”
“Huh?” Hank Jenkins’s jaw flopped open, and Mr. Lewellyn stared at Bill Scutch as if he’d gone mad. Even Thomas’s eyebrows shot up before he caught himself. “What in the world for, Bill?” he asked.
“It’s like Jake said, Thomas. It’s not fair the sign changed just ‘bout the time your grandboy was born. Regardless a who changed it. At any rate, the harm’s already been done. So until 1970, when we git ourselves a new sign, we’ll just paint over that last number one more time. This one’ll be for Jake’s grandboy.”
Thomas slid a look at the policeman, his surprise dissolving into poker-faced perception. When he turned back to Mr. Lewellyn, his expression was one of utter betrayal. “Bill Scutch,” he declared, “whatever’s gotten into you? Some vandal’s gone and wrecked our town sign, and now you’re advocatin’ wreckin’ it some more?”
Bill held Jake Lewellyn’s astonished gaze. “Well, Jake?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” He gripped the arms of his chair and slowly lowered himself into it. “I never woulda thought a that.”
“Aw, forgit it, Jake.” Thomas sounded disgusted. “You’re just mad ‘cause I still got your marble. You want me to spend a night in jail, I’ll spend a night in jail, whether I done anything’re not. I been in far worse places in my fightin’ life; it makes no never-mind to me.”
A change spread across Mr. Lewellyn’s face, as if he’d sucked to the middle of sour candy and tasted sugar. “No, now wait a minute, Thomas. You don’t need to be sleepin’ in jail, with your old bones. And Bill’s right, that sign’s already ruint, so one more paintin’ over’s not goin’ to hurt it none.” He nodded his head once. Firmly. “I think it’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”
Thomas sucked on his teeth. “I don’t know, Jake.”
“It’s the best way. And it’ll put you in your own bed tonight.”
I watched Thomas’s fingers drum against his chair. “And just when do you suppose we’d take care a this little assignment? I got to get my grandgirl home in time for supper.”
Bill Scutch raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
“Well,” Mr. Lewellyn said, “we could do it right now, I s’pose. Wouldn’t take long. The hardware store’s right across the street; all we need is a brush and some black paint.” He stood suddenly, pushing back his chair. “In fact, I think that’s the best idea—do it now and git it done.” He fished in a pocket and pulled out his car keys. “I’ll drive. Hank, Bill, you both come along to see it’s done right.” He jerked his chin toward the hardware store when Thomas failed to move. “Well, let’s go, ol’ man. Let’s git this unpleasant business over with so you can git home.”
Thomas had linked his fingers under his chin and was gazing up at his adversary.
“Git a move on, Thomas!”
He would not budge.
“Would you come on! We got a sign to paint!”
A long silence. Slowly, Thomas began to shake his head, back and forth. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Jake Lewellyn—my boyhood friend who grew up to wear the Brad
leyville badge for thirty-five years. Who was honest as the day is long. And now”—he pressed his lips together—”now after retiring with honors, you’re fixin’—with great excitement, I might add—to buy some black paint and a brush and vandalize the sign a the town my daddy founded. Lord help us, what is this world comin’ to.”
I pressed fingers against my mouth. Mr. Jenkins burst into laughter, then tried to cover by coughing into his fist. Bill Scutch valiantly clung to a straight face. Mr. Lewellyn’s jowls were turning purple. “Now you hold on!” he yelled. “This wasn’t—!”
“Jake,” Thomas pronounced, “you said it yourself. You know very well our town sign’s not changed every time a baby’s born. We counted everyone in 1965 and we’ll do it again in 1970, and until that time you’re just gonna have to wait.” He turned to Bill Scutch. “What sort a punishment would be appropriate for our fallen brother?”
Mr. Lewellyn’s mouth was opening and closing with no sound uttered, like a fish flopping on the riverbank.
“Let me see.” Bill Scutch sighed and rubbed his chin. “I guess a night in jail oughta do it.”
That did it. Jake Lewellyn recovered enough to let loose a few words that Celia should not have heard. When he stomped away, I could have sworn the sidewalk shook. We all watched as he yanked open his car door, shoved himself inside, and roared away.
“And I still got your marble too!” Thomas hollered after him.
“Whoooeee!” he cackled, leaping from his seat to slap Bill Scutch on the back. “The wisdom a Solomon, I do declare; I done taught you well.” Grabbing my hands, he pulled me up and jigged me around the sidewalk. “The town’s needed somethin’ to laugh at, Jessie Callum. Just wait till it hears this!”
chapter 23
So you were right in the midst of that brouhaha, I hear.” Aunt Eva ladled peas onto her plate, pushing them together into a small mound.
It never ceased to amaze me how fast word buzzed around Bradleyville. But then, working in the post office all day, Aunt Eva did tend to sit in the center of the beehive. “I was there, all right.”
“Thought you were gonna sew all day.”
I sank my fork into the first bite of mouthwatering meatloaf. I’d hardly eaten anything all day, and after I’d put it in the oven to bake, its tantalizing aroma had seeped all the way into my bedroom as I sewed. “I was. But Thomas called and asked me to go to Tull’s with him. Plus, I promised Celia I’d see her sometime this week, and she was there.”
“Mmm.” Aunt Eva eyed me with curiosity. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Uncle Frank was busy dressing a baked potato with butter and sour cream. His mind seemed elsewhere. “You were awful busy sewin’ yesterday,” my aunt pressed. “Not a minute to spare, even for a telephone call. Now today you’re runnin’ ‘round with Thomas.”
Savoring the peppery meatloaf, I remained silent. I wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at—my reticence to talk to Lee or the depth of my involvement in Thomas’s shenanigans. Or both.
“So did you know all that was comin’?”
Pure innocence pasted itself on my face. “How could I have known? We were already there when Mr. Lewellyn came roaring up, mad as could be.”
A tiny smile played over Uncle Frank’s lips. He spread the sour cream with a knife, quickly glancing at me, then back to his plate. I sniffed and took a drink of iced tea. Uncle Frank always did have the uncanny knack of seeing right through me.
Aunt Eva opened her mouth again, and by the look on her face, I knew she was going to ask me about Lee. Without thinking, I jumped in. “Guess what. I saw Alice Eder while I was downtown, and she actually offered me a job for the next few weeks.” As soon as the words were uttered, I could have kicked myself. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
“It’s a great opportunity for you,” my aunt gushed, showing no surprise at the piece of news. “Why don’t you take it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a lot of sewing to do here. Three more dresses. Plus I’ve been looking forward to these weeks of not having to fit into anybody else’s schedule.”
“Sounds good to me,” Uncle Frank put in. “You been workin’ awful hard the past five years.”
Aunt Eva glared at him.
“Well, Alice wants to retire, you know.” She arched an eyebrow as she sank her fork through meatloaf. “It would be just perfect for you to take that shop over.”
“What in the world would I want with that shop?”
She looked offended. “To have as your own business, of course. You could stay right here and make a very good living, particularly with your skills.”
“Aunt Eva, I have a ‘living’ to make in Cincinnati. I’ve already got a job there, remember? And an apartment. And Hope Center.”
“All right, all right.” Her hand fluttered in the air. “It was just a thought.” She bent over her meat with purpose, frustration rounding her shoulders. A strand of red hair straggled from her bun, and she pushed it from her face with impatience. In the ensuing silence, I could hear her jaw popping as she chewed. When she put her fork down on her plate with a clatter, I jumped. “Well, I don’t think you should go.”
“Now, Eva,” my uncle said.
“Don’t ‘now, Eva’ me,” she retorted. “You know good and well you agree with me; you just won’t say it to her face.”
Irritation plucked my nerves. For a moment, I wished I’d never come back. I should have gone straight from my graduation to Cincinnati. Now that I was here, I kept bumping into one complication after another. The sawmill, Lee, now my aunt flagrantly trying to run my life. Keep calm, I told myself, this is nothing to get upset about. I looked from my aunt to my uncle, searching for the most benign way to deal with this particular roadblock. The subject of my moving away had been lurking over our shoulders ever since I’d come back to Bradleyville, and we might as well deal with it now so I could enjoy a few more weeks of relative peace.
Summoning a neutral expression, I looked to Uncle Frank. “Is that so?”
He set down his utensils and inhaled audibly, as if preparing himself for a long-delayed confrontation. Then he nodded. “You told me just yesterday that nobody could stop me from going.”
“That’s true, Jessie.” His voice was gentle. “But I also told you I want you to be followin’ Christ’s plans for your life, not your own.”
I stared at him, a familiar defensiveness rising within me. “I am, okay? I’m following what God wants me to do, what my mother told me to do in my dream.”
He processed that for a moment. “Remember when we talked about that dream, so many years ago? Remember how I asked you to read the Bible to better understand God’s purpose for your life? You told me you were doin’ that.”
“And I was. I read most of it, anyway. But what’s that got to do with me leaving? You trying to tell me God only lives in Bradleyville?”
“Of course not,” Aunt Eva interjected.
I ignored her.
“No, Jessie.” My uncle’s patience sparked remorse through my chest. “Not at all. What we are tryin’ to say, and what we’ve been prayin’ for all these years, is that you will turn your life over to Christ fully, completely, and—with diligence—seek what he wants you to do.” He spread his hands. “It’s not that your plans are bad. They’re good ones; they’re laudatory in terms of helpin’ other people. Here you are, a beautiful young woman, and you’re not seekin’ fame or fortune, but how to serve others. Understand me, there’s nothin’ wrong with those goals as far as your career goes. But that’s just what they are, Jessie, they’re plans for a career. They’re not plans for salvation. The road you’re going down is the same one your mama was on. And she set herself on it because of her own sorrow-filled, abusive upbringin’. You don’t need to continue that cycle; you were raised with lots of love. You forget that your Aunt Eva had the same upbringin’ as your mama, the same angry father. She’s had to deal with all that hurt too. And I know she would tell you that the answe
r to breakin’ that cycle lay in acceptin’ Jesus Christ and understandin’ that he could cleanse away all the horrible feelin’s of worthlessness her father had instilled in her.”
I looked at my plate, on the verge of tears. This was the longest speech I’d ever heard my uncle make. I trusted him, respected him greatly. And I knew he and Aunt Eva loved me and would never try to lead me astray. What’s more, I had to admit that deep within my uncle I sensed a serenity that I wished I had. Even my aunt, with all her chattiness and impulsive interfering, seemed much more grounded and free of her past than my quiet mother ever had. In quick succession, two images flashed through my head—my grandfather’s spite-filled pronouncement, “You’ll never be good enough!”; followed by the brief visage of despair that had crossed my mother’s features during what was to be our final moment together.
Our final moment.
My mother’s time on earth had been so brief. And she’d spent it unselfishly—on me, on others. Something within me stirred at my uncle’s words, and yet those words repelled all that my mother had lived for, like magnets of the same force. All that she had died for.
Silence suspended itself over our table. Even Aunt Eva wasn’t jumping in to fill it. I raised my eyes to her, seeking a diversion. “You’re awful quiet.”
“I’m prayin’,” came her terse reply.
Uncle Frank said nothing. I had the sense they’d sit there all evening, awaiting my response. I found a speck of lint on the tablecloth. Pinched it between finger and thumb. Let it drop onto the carpet.
Softly, I cleared my throat. “Well. You know I understand your beliefs; I really do. And I think they’ve … helped you a lot. Deal with life and all its problems, I mean. So I respect that.” I nudged the handle of my fork further up my plate. “When I first came here I was really hurting too. More than anything else, that dream I had about my mom, and the course it put me on, helped me get over the pain. I’ve worked”—my throat clinched, and I fought to control it—”I’ve worked really hard to graduate and get the job I wanted. I’ve planned for this a long, long time. And I believe absolutely that it’s the right thing to do. It has to be.”
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